Let's Dance

In yoga we are encouraged to quite our minds and stay present in the moment.  Tonight my mind was running through a laundry list of things, some accomplished and others not yet.  Inevitably, (even before the initial breathing), I was thinking about what to write about.   
"Let your thoughts be just that, let them go, come back, be present."
That is when I decided to write about my dreaded moment (and minute to follow) in bikram yoga.  
Thirty minutes in...sixty to go.  

So far my mind says...

breath in,            breath in,                breath in 

(six seconds) 

You can do it, no let it go, no hold it you can do it. No I can't. Don't say you can't, you can do it. Okay hold it, hold it,                        release.

breath out,            breath out,                breath out

(six seconds) 

 So far instructor says...

"Lock your knee, hips level, tack that hip down, breath breath breath, 

half-way. Looking good, one last breath at the top 

and                        release."

And then the dreaded words.

"Okay, let's dance."

Crap, I HATE this one.  Left arm up, right arm out, release the shoulder grab ankle.  Arch back and kick up.  KICK UP KICK UP.  Lean forward, engage the left leg, lock the knee.

Ugh. If I just pop up my hip a little bit.....

NO CHEATING!

Tack the hip down, tack it down, kick up, lean forward...

"THAT'S HALF WAY."

How is it only half way, please don't pop knee, please don't pop! Forward, forward and oh UH OH!

One last pop up before I fall...up up up. 

and I fall out.

Breath in, slow it down.  Breathe in one, two, three, four, five, six

out for six slow slow slow.

"And release, now for the other side."

And repeated on each side after that.  I can't do, Yes I can, I can I can I can I can. 

And I do, every time.  

Sometimes really well, other times not so gracefully. 

Even when I think I can't, I do.

(and man do I feel less hypocritical telling my students to not say "I can't!")

Friends for Life

I grew up on a block called Silver Circle.  My parents built the house when I was two and we moved in when I was three.  That was when I met Bre.  Bre's family lived on the other side of the block and we were instant friends.  For sixteen years Bre and I had adventures together, some more mischievous than others.  Although we were a year apart in school, we were in dance classes together, we were on ski team together and we played volleyball together.  We traveled on school trips together, survived high school classes and produced yearbooks.  For all of those years we lived a quick bike-ride around the block from each other and our friendship was a constant.
Like many young girls we used to play 'grown ups.'  We would fight over would have the name of Karen.  We would pretend to be our teachers whom we loved.  We would pretend to work at banks, grocery stores and other businesses.  We would pretend that we were grown up (20 years old!) and were married, and had kids.  Bre and I were definitely not lacking in imagination. 
I got an invite from Bre last week to a St. Patrick's Day dinner.
Not much has changed in our friendship except that now we are both married, we are way older than twenty and eek, we both have real jobs.  We are also, once again, a quick bike ride away.  The Silver Circle loop has turned into navigating the western streets of Washington Park but I absolutely love that I can say (to Jack) we are riding our bikes to Bre's (and Mark's).  

Not Friday?

We were out of coffee today, so I had a triple latte.  My energy was high all day, I think I even matched the kids.  I felt like my A-Game, the kids were engaged, creating, excited, a little squirmy.  I left school right at three but came home and read In Pictures and In Words for school.  Well, I started out by reading my school book but as I sat on the front porch with Gracie at my feet and cool white wine resting on the Adirondack...I was persuaded to pick up my novel.  I read for over two hours and didn't fall asleep! Either it is an amazing book (which it is, Steven King's 11/22/63, I would highly recommend it) or I am finally getting over the time change.  Around six Jack and I hopped on our bikes to head to Lala's for dinner.  Although Logan is very different from Mountain Avenue in Fort Collins, we braved the fast and aggressive drivers in order to enjoy cruising in the beautiful weather.  After a delicious meal I lie in bed reading and listening to the NCAA games trying to ignore one itty bitty teeny weeny icky gooey annoying detail of a thought.

HOW IS IT NOT FRIDAY!

It feels like a Friday. It seems like a Friday.  It tastes like a Friday. And yet...tomorrow I will have to survive a Friday!

Moon

"A broken piece of moon hung in the sky." From 11/22/63 by Steven King

My mom always used to say that her Grandmother always saw a little boy and a little girl sharing a kiss.

My dad always used to say that he had been trimming his toe nails and one flew high in the sky.

My sister and I were always fascinated by the one seen in mountain skies.

I felt the need to tattoo a version of one on my body.

James Taylor asked if you could feel it. 

It is the subject of a final goodnight in that book I love.

I always perk up when that glowing lune is mentioned in text, song or conversation.  I am not sure what exactly I am drawn to, but I always think I will see that little boy and little girl.   

A Very Bad Driveway

Dear Rushed Driver,
Please do not follow me so closely, you see, my blinker is not staying on extra long...I live right here! I know,  I know, you are so excited to be off Speer and you have places to be. But you see, the driveway, no really! Look at the driveway.  Do you see the miniature cliff, on each side of the driveway that is only perfectly wide enough for a car to get in or out at a straight angle.  If you don't get that angle you will hear the horrible noises on the scraping on the bottom of the car. I KID YOU NOT!  You see, Sir, there was a car coming the other way and I could not swoop out far enough to get the right angle.  And NOW. AND NOW! And now you are stopped inches from my bumper and there is nothing I can do but to back out and try it again.  OOOH you are getting mad, but you have to back out, for me to back out! Oh Sir, I don't like the driveway either but you will have to talk to my landlord about that!
I back up, try again AND...
VICTORY! I am in!
And you Mr. Rushy McRusherson are now on your way!
I just got done with yoga, so you see.  So other drivers (slow, fast, crazy, texting, etc) DON'T REALLY BOTHER ME!
Regards,
Sarah
(from the house with the really horrible driveway)

Wedding Dress...oh wedding dress.

I thought I would piggy back on Jamie's story.  I liked the theme and am totally at a loss for ideas tonight!

When it was time to start looking at wedding dresses, I started in Fort Collins and was quickly frustrated.  I had dreams of finding the perfect little dress at a tiny little shop...not even close.  David's Bridal did not offer me a spot without an appointment (also three ladies milling around!) 

Eventually my sister convinced me to make an appointment at Anna Be.  It was an experience! The grand staircase, the exposed brick, and dress after dress, after beautiful dress!  My third dress was 'the one.'  It was exactly how I had pictured I would look in my wedding dress and luckily, on the scale, my mom with a glint in her eye gave me the excited yesitisexpensivebutitisyourdressanditisperfect nod.  I have a great mom. 

We moved forward and soon I was back at the shop for a fitting, and finally I got to take it home.  We had to make a few adjustments.  A few inches off the bottom (thank goodness, how else is one supposed to make three white flowers for their hair!).  The straps were originally crossed and we decided have them uncrossed.  Great, wedding dress checked off the list!

It is the day of my wedding.  I spent the early afternoon getting ready amidst my bridesmaids, my mom, my aunt, my grandma.  Beautiful pictures, a box of costumers tape to ensure the front of my dress stays in place, borrowed pearl earrings and we are ready to go.  My aunt, mom and grandma had left a little early to go make sure everything at the venue was set up.  It was just me and the girls making our way through the hotel, walking, giggling and making sure we had everything.  And then...disaster.  One of my straps breaks! The back just came off.  Under most circumstances, I would have FREAKED OUT!  Luckily, thankfully ohmygod what would I have done otherwise, one of my bridesmaids is a master seamstress.  She has worked on Hollywood movie sets with costuming and wouldn't you know she just happened to have a needle and thread in her room, a room that was right down the hall.  She sewed me up, we took one last look in the mirror and we were off for real.  In the elevator I was trying to tell Carrie how grateful I was and what a disaster we had avoided!  She smiled, lifted her arm to show that same little needle and a string of thread strategically places near the seam of her dress and said, "don't worry, I got you covered!"

Thankfully, we did not need any more 'mending' that evening.  AND the dress held up well enough for our kiss. 

Chores

Jack was making fun of me the other night because of the way I stack all of our bed pillows on the floor when it is time to go to bed.  I told him that not only was it not funny, but it is, perhaps, the ONLY thing I do consistently day to day.

If there are four load of clean laundry on our guest bed and not in drawers, I stack the pillows.  If the dishwasher is full but clean and the kitchen a mess, I stack the pillows.  If there is junk mail and 'stuff' all over the house, I still stack the pillows.  If the automatic coffee maker is not set to go the night before a school day, I stack the pillows.

Oh glorious Saturday.  Laundry done, AND put away. House clean, kitchen clean, 'stuff' in the right place, and a trip to Starbucks.  AND I will stack the pillows! 

Perfect Summer Days

As Jack and I walked to dinner tonight we were reflecting on how much we love living in Denver, how ready we are for summer and much we love watching Gracie chase a tennis ball at the park.  For the past month I have reached my goal of practicing Bikram Yoga regularly and can make it to a 4:00 class as long as there is no traffic.  The beauty of this schedule is that Jack gets off work at the same time I finish yoga and we meet at the park, he brings Grace. 
Grace could chase a ball all day long.  Kids, other dogs and people are not a distraction from her main concern...get the ball!  The entire time she runs her tail is wagging and her head is held high.  Although she loves this, Jack and I joke that it is really her 'dry-land' training for her real passion. Swimming. 
It is at this point in our conversation that we come to the thing we don't like to talk about.  The fact that we moved away from Gracie's lake (okay okay, it is really Horsetooth Reservoir).  Grace and I share special bonding time in the summer while Jack works.  I would typically go to a mid-morning bikram class and get nice and sweaty.  After a quick bike-ride home, Grace and I would head West about 15 minutes to the glorious shore of Horsetooth.  I would take in the sun while Grace swam after the first few throws.  And then, and this is really her favorite, I would always jump in too.  We would swim together out as far as I could throw and then slowly paddle back to shore.  More throws, more 'team' swims. 
Denver does not offer that type of haven, there are some spots that might work but nothing as perfect as our beach.  Our summer days may end up looking a little different this summer, but most likely yoga and swimming will be a necessity. 

Grandma & Gramps

"Well Sarah, you have until the spring to get your room in order and then your Grandma and I will be there to check it out."  My Grandpa tried to hide a sly smile as he told me this last August as the school year started. 

My grandparents attended every dance recital, every volleyball game, some ski races (!) and of course, all of my important life events (graduations, birthdays and my wedding).  My sister and I are very blessed to have had such active grandparents.  When we were in trouble at home, we wished we were at Grandma and Grandpa's house.  When we left their house, we cried and cried and cried.

They are indeed picture perfect. All nine grand kids are spoiled rotten.  Well, we thought we were until great granddaughter #1 came along.  She is spoiled beyond rotten! But I digress.  As a couple they have set an example for a life filled with love and family.  They are honest, kind, wise and their humor brings the family to tears.

Today, the pair visited my room for Kindergarten art.  Not only were the kids absolutely "adorable" (Grandma's comment) but also "each one was trying their best" (Grandpa's observation).  The kids were so kind and my Grandma even got her hands dirty while walking around talking to each table.  She literally got her hands dirty because she helped some students pull off their bleeding tissue paper color squares.  I love that I have gotten to share my whole life with my grandparents.  I know today was a highlight for all three of us. 

Missing two days already? That's about right.

Well, I have missed two days.  I can't hide it, I can't go back and can't really make excuses.  But, there are some pretty interesting stories associated with my two missed days.

Missed Day # 1:
Jack and I are supposed to be enjoying our weekend with friends in the mountains but poor Jack becomes utterly, abruptly and entirely sick.  What started out as some vomiting and diarrhea soon turns into major leg cramping and obvious dehydration.  Based on the professional opinions of the two nurses and one med student staying at our house, at 1am we headed to the ER.  ER is a term I will use loosely for the medical facility in Granby, CO.  It was very new, very nice and we were the only people there.  The nurses were great, the doctor was really nice.  Three and a half hours, two and a half liters and a Gatorade later, we were on our way home.  Needless to say, the next day we were exhausted.  A quick group snow-shoe and frozen pizzas were all that I could muster, and did I mention a nap by the fire.  Alas, no blog post. 

Missed Day # 2:
I am feeling pretty good Sunday night, dinner with the family and a quiet evening at home.  I am thinking how nice it is that Jack is finally feeling better and that I escaped the wrath.  Not so fast! 2am was met with the same lovely symptoms Jack had experienced earlier in the weekend.  I set my alarm early so if by some miracle I can make it to work but 6am brings only more feverish bouts.  Unfortunately, my art room is a DISASTER and I am not sure I could even write sub plans based on the mess.  So I make the drive North, clean my room and throw together plans.  By 10am I am back in bed...until 2 then 4:30 and then 6.  I fall asleep at 9 hoping to feel human again. 
No blog=more sleep.

Almost missed day #3:
I wake up today, feeling a little beaten up but certainly ready to go to work.  I get ready, get packed and am out the door when. ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!???? AGAIN???@@@@@!!!!!!
Some lovely person has once again, parallel parked directly in front of our driveway. For the second time!
There is no logic, no quick solution, NOTHING I CAN DO!
Denver PD sends an officer, the tow-truck arrives and 50 minutes later I am finally pulling out of the driveway.  Just as I think that my feel-good, back to normal day is ruined.  I remember that I just got an extra 50 minutes of snuggling with my dog and husband, of joking, laughing, re-hashing the unbelievable obliviousness of certain white-sedan drivers, and more snuggling.  Perhaps this morning wasn't so bad after all. 

An Ode to Pinterest

Considering this is where I spend the VAST majority on on-line time, I suppose I will write about it.  I also just wasted about 15 minutes looking at pins while "thinking" about a topic, so here it goes.

Pinterest, oh pinterest.

What did I ever do before you?

How did I plan a wedding, or design a kitchen? Or know what book to read next?

How did I ever plan lessons without seeing 47 examples of 1 point perspective drawing on ONE SINGLE PAGE?

Your format speaks to me. 

It's as if you know me.  

I am intrigued by friends and those I follow and marvel at one thing

after

another

after 

another

after 

another.  

You have captured all the beauty, creativity, inspiration and awe of the web,

and you share it with me.

If only one day my home, my spaces, my mind and my soul could become the reality of pins that dazzle my eyes.

Pinterest, oh pinterest. 

If there was only one website I could see for the rest of my days, 

it would be you.

If there was only one way to get ideas for everything,

it would be you. 

And even though my husband thinks I am crazy for scrolling down and down and further down (and then back up to make sure I didn't miss anything)...

You are the way I see the world, and you are full of the things in this world I want to see.

Alpenglow

Three o'clock could not have come quick enough.  At 2:57 I received a text that Jack had gotten off work early and he was all packed.  If the ocean of cars on southbound I-25 wasn't too dense, I could be home by 3:40.  I burst through the door at 3:37.  As if waltzing around our house, Jack and I quickly gathered the groceries, our bags, toothbrushes, wine and prepared foods.  By 5:07 we were on 8th avenue west, finally mountain bound.

As we climb Berthoud Pass, the last drops of daylight seep through the fog.  Alpenglow.  One of my favorite words, definitely one of my favorite phenomenons.  Alpenglow marks the end of a winter day, the quite and calm time as the sun floats behind the mountains.  The sight is breathtaking, it is home.  It reminds me of so many days from my childhood, cozy in my mountain town.  The week has faded away. The beautiful, peaceful, alpenglow calm has overtaken our family.

Well, most of the family.  As Jack and I take in the splendor, Gracie (our 3 year old lab) frantically paces in the the backseat.  Grace becomes aware of our mountain getaways by the time we get to Floyd Hill.  By the top of Berthoud, her excitement is beyond her control.  Snowbanks, no leash and cross country skiing! DRIVE FASTER!

We have invited close friends to the family house in Winter Park this weekend.  Some will have the luxury of a bedroom, some have volunteered to sleep on the floor.  Dogs, bags, food and drinks will soon fill this house.  This weekend will no doubt join the many summers and memories we share with our friends.  The house will be alive this weekend, but not quite yet.  As we await our guests Grace is frolicking and bounding through the snow out front and Jack and I are enjoying the quiet and the peace by a warm mountain fire. 

Texture...in potatoes.

I am an artist. Not a writer. Writing, in fact, was one of the things I struggled with the most in school. Here I am, it is 10:14pm and my husband is anxiously waiting for me to finish writing (!?) so that we can become totally involved in our latest guilty pleasure.  For the past few weeks we have been watching "Friday Night Lights" and I am not embarrassed to say that the show makes the prospect of finally making it to bed even more exciting.

After taking great pains to DESIGN the blog, I suppose it is time to write and naturally I asked Jack for advice on a topic. 
"Honey, it will be really quick, I just have to do a little writing."
"Writing?"
"Yes, writing. Any ideas?"
"Um, the POTATOES!

This idea strikes me as ridiculous. However, as I think back to our kitchen adventures this evening suddenly the textured potatoes seem more important than a side for steak.

Jack has one main go-to dish.  Red mashed potatoes.  He learned the recipe from a friend years ago and they have become so popular in our family that it is often a staple at Thanksgiving dinner.   Tonight we timed our the meal poorly and the steaks were done way before the potatoes. Jack was so hungry he suggested skipping them altogether and just eating the steak.  Being that potatoes are my favorite part of this meal, I lovingly refused, kept the steaks warm and finally insisted that the potatoes were ready to be mashed.  Jack agreed and worked his magic.  As he tasted for salt and pepper, a peculiar look appeared on his face.  First...unsure. Then... excitement and finally VICTORY.

"I THINK THEY TASTE BETTER THAN NORMAL! THEY HAVE TEXTURE"

I thought to myself how nice it would be if some of my students suddenly remarked on the concept of texture but as I sat down and took my first bite,
he was right.
The potatoes were better than they had ever been before. They were better than the times he made them when we had secret crushes on each other, they were better than when we first cooked them as a couple, they were better than the Thanksgiving potatoes my Grandmother adores.

On a chilly March 1st night, after long days of work, those textured potatoes couldn't have been more perfect.  

Recipe:

Red potatoes (diced)
salt
pepper
unsalted butter

Boil diced potatoes until almost soft (aha-the texture!) Drain potatoes and add butter, salt and pepper to taste.
*Not sure how much or how little, every time I try to make them they do not taste lie Jack's.*
*Jack's advice:
"It's an art, it takes time."